


Four Thousand Miles

by dustbunnyprophet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Birthday, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pliroy Week 2017, Romance, Sickfic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10038440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustbunnyprophet/pseuds/dustbunnyprophet
Summary: Jean was four thousand miles away, training for the World Championship, while Yuri sat alone on his windowsill with a cast on his leg, and his cat perched on his lap. On top of that he was hungry.All in all Yuri could think of better ways of spending his birthday.Pliroy Week 2017 - Day 1: Birthday, Day 2: Self-esteem/Confidence, Day 3: Fashion, Day 4: Promise





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pliroy Week 2017 - Day 1: Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I managed to write this on time! <3

The rain poured heavily. Thick dark clouds were hanging low over the streets of Saint Petersburg. And the road outside was covered in grey, rivulets of water streaming down the tarmac. Yuri leaned against the window. He listened to the pounding of the raindrops against the glass, while thunder rumbled far away. 

Shapka meowed, and Yuri looked down into his lap. She was sprawled across his hoodie, shedding fur over the red fabric. It had used to be Jean’s but Yuri had appropriated it back when they had just started dating. It fit him better now, but his fingers still barely peeked out of the cuffs. The cat kept demanding his attention and Yuri curled his fingers into her fur, stroking her. Purring loudly she began digging her claws into his thigh. He swore out loud, struggling not to jostle his leg. 

He had taken an ugly fall at the rink the previous week, and the cast they had put on his broken ankle had erased any hope of competing at Worlds this season. 

It was just fucking splendid. And on top of that it hurt like a bitch. 

When he had called Jean to give him the news the idiot had almost flown straight to Saint Petersburg. It had taken Yuri yelling at him for ten straight minutes on the phone before the moron had decided  _ not  _ to drop out of the Four Continents just to come and coddle Yuri. Who didn’t need any coddling, thank you very much.

It was not the first broken bone of his career, and while it sucked not being able to compete, it was not the end of the fucking world. He only hoped he would be able to fly to Japan for the Worlds. He hadn’t seen Jean since the Canadian Nationals, when Yuri had taken a flight to Ottawa to watch him skate. He had managed to get a whole week off practice, fighting with an outraged Yakov who had claimed it was irresponsible to waste a week of training when he had the Europeans coming.

After that it had been impossible to see each other, between Euros and the Four Continents, and Yuri had been looking forward to the World Championship. And not only to snatch the gold back from Jean who had won the year before. He missed him with a longing that had etched itself into his very bones, fractured and whole alike. After two years of stealing moments it had grown heavier and heavier to say goodbye each time. 

Jean had been on the verge of moving to Russia more than once, but Yuri had stopped him each time. For all that he wanted nothing more than having him there all the time, Yuri knew Jean had been coached by his parents throughout his whole career. It would be wrong to ask of him to change coach and risk getting poorer results while he adjusted.

His bed was cold and he lived for the moments they managed to snatch with one another, but skating was more important. They only had a small number of years left to compete. And the rest of their lives to make compromises. 

He sighed, thinking the quad flip he had flubbed and that had made him end up with a fractured ankle. The only silver lining was that it had happened at the end of the season. With a bit of luck and Yuri’s stubbornness he was going to skate next season. 

Still, it sucked being stuck in his apartment when he could be training, perfecting his routines, instead of spending his birthday sitting on his windowsill with a cast on his leg and an empty stomach.

Yuri scowled, knowing he should do something about the latter. Which meant moving. He had eaten the last leftovers of the bento Katsudon had made for him the day before, and unless he ordered a pizza or something, he would have to cook. 

He guessed he only had himself to blame for that. His Grandfather had offered to come to Saint Petersburg to take care of Yuri, but he had refused. He may have a cast on his leg, but it didn’t mean he needed help. Or at least, that was what his pride had told him. Because, the truth was it was not easy doing chores with a pair of crutches, especially when he was supposed to rest if he wanted the bones to heal properly. And he  _ did.  _ His whole career depended upon that.

Gently he nudged Shapka off his lap and the cat jumped to the floor with a displeased meow. Yuri took his crutches, and got up from the windowsill. He had a small studio apartment, but it still took him a lot of time to reach the kitchenette, and open the fridge, glaring at it. Huffing in frustration he set to work in the grey light of the rainy afternoon. 

An hour dragged between pots and pans, and Yuri cursing colourfully in more than one language, but he managed to whip up a semi-decent  _ borscht _ . He ate it in the utter silence of his apartment, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg. 

There were still dishes to be done, but one look at the disaster zone that was his kitchen at the moment, made him sigh in annoyance. There was no fucking way he was spending another hour standing in front of the sink. He should have gotten a dishwasher when Mila had suggested it months ago, when he had moved into his apartment. But he had not bought one just to spite her. 

This was apparently turning out to be a day of listing the many life choices Yuri regretted.

He scowled, grabbing his crutches and plopping down on the couch. He needed to rest. Especially since he had no fucking doubt the hag and the annoying couple would come and pester him after they were done at the rink. They had done so every year Yuri had been about to spend his birthday alone. He had stopped being annoyed at them a couple of years ago, begrudgingly accepting the inevitability of it all. 

It was going to be tiresome, though. Mila was always a bundle of energy and Victor and Katsudon were gross on their best days. Yuri needed to mentally prepare himself for it. Or he would end up biting someone’s head off. Not that he particularly cared, but it would only fuel Mila’s teasing, which would in turn fuel his irritation, until Yuri snapped. 

It was better to avoid that trainwreck.

He curled on the sofa, pulling a throw blanket over his legs. And closed his eyes. He had just begun dozing off when someone rang the doorbell. His eyes snapped open and he frowned. There was no way in hell Yakov had let his teammates earlier from practice. So who the fuck was that?

The doorbell rang once again and Yuri cursed out loud, grabbing his crutches. 

The door was not far from the couch and it took him no time to unlock the door and yank it open, an array of colourful curses on the tip of his tongue. 

Yuri opened his mouth only to snap it shut.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, flabbergasted.

“It’s nice to see you too, Yuri.” Jean replied with a wide grin, and a twinkle in his blue eyes. His hair was sticking in wet tendrils on his forehead and his jacket was completely drenched. 

“Happy birthday.” he told him, and Yuri blinked twice. 

And then he was throwing his arms around the idiot, dropping his crutches on the floor and kissing him with everything he had. With all the longing and the lonely nights, with all the times he had told him not to come here, because they would have time, they would have time. Skating mattered. They would have the rest of their lives to spend together. But as he deepened the kiss, all Yuri could think was that it was good to have him here, to be able to wrap his arms around his neck and hold him tight. 

Slowly the broke apart, and Yuri held onto Jean’s shoulders for support. 

“I can’t believe it you’re here” he told him almost breathless “Aren’t you supposed to train for Worlds.”

“If you think I’m letting you spend your birthday alone  _ and  _ hurt, you really don’t know me.” Jean told him, cocking an eyebrow, as they made their way into the apartment “I should have gotten here last week.”

“No you shouldn’t.” Yuri retorted while Jean helped him to the sofa, gently putting a pillow under his cast  “Who would have kicked Katsudon’s ass in Boston?”

“Yuri. I don’t care, okay.” he told him, sitting next to him on the sofa, and brushing Yuri’s hair behind his ear “I only competed because it would have upset you even more if I hadn’t. But I’m not leaving this apartment until they get that cast off your leg.”

Yuri opened his mouth to protest, but Jean didn’t give a chance to

“I made arrangements with your coach. I’ll be training here until Worlds.” he said and Yuri wanted to tell him it was stupid, that he didn’t need Jean to nurse him. But hadn’t he already made a hefty list of moronic life choices he had made? 

“Fine.” he said, pressing his lips against Jean’s, only to pull back with a smirk “If you’re so keen on helping me you can start by doing the dishes.”

“I’m going to regret this?” Jean asked teasingly and Yuri’s smirk turned into a chuckle.

“Yep”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm toying with the idea of continuing this with the other prompts for the Pliroy week. Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pliroy Week 2017 - Day 2: Self-esteem/Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was emotionally draining to write. :(

Sunlight streamed softly through the large window. The sheer curtains were drawn but a sliver of warm light sneaked between them, falling across the bed and tangling in Yuri’s hair. Jean watched the soft rise and fall of his chest. His hair fanned on the pillow, a few strands falling across his face and catching in his tawny eyelashes. He looked so peaceful when he slept, his mouth relaxing in a soft line that made Jean want to trace it with his fingers. And kiss it lightly, while the faint freckles on his nose disappeared in a blush.

Feeling his stomach flutter, he resisted the urge to curl closer around him and spend the day lazing in bed. Instead, he gave one last wistful glance and silently crawled out of the covers. He had to go to the rink. It had taken a lot of nagging and Nikiforov insisting, but Feltsman had agreed to supervise his training until Worlds. And while it allowed Jean to spend his time with Yuri in Saint Petersburg, it also meant a very harsh regimen. 

He had heard rumours of the strict method of training they used in Russia, but it had taken a gruelling training session with Feltsman to realise just how easy he had it with his parents. In all the long years of skating, Jean had never felt so tired. But at the same time there was something about pushing himself beyond his limits. A certain satisfaction that came from knowing he had outdone himself. While he doubted he could train with someone like Feltsman on a regular basis, it was an interesting change. 

Jean poured himself a cup of coffee and after adding a generous amount of milk and sugar he leaned on the kitchen counter to drink it. He ate a bit of biscuits, and then he walked to his backpack, fishing out his pill dispenser. Throwing a glance at the bed to make sure Yuri was still asleep, he took his morning dose and swallowed it down with the rest of his coffee. 

He knew it was not the right approach, Jean didn’t need his therapist telling him that. Before Yuri’s injury they had never spent enough time together for the blond to notice something, but now Jean was practically living with him, and sneaking around Yuri just to get his morning and evening medications, made something unpleasant coil in the pit of his stomach. And yet, every time he had tried to breach the subject with Yuri, Jean had lost the nerve on the follow through. 

It didn’t matter what excuses he had given himself, in the end the truth was simple enough. Jean was scared.

He closed his eyes, trying to settle down the rolling of his stomach. The pills had always made him feel slightly nauseous, but this was guilt clawing at his guts. And shame. After all the long years he had known and fought against his own mind, Jean still felt ashamed of being broken. Of being a burden to those who surrounded him. His family. Yuri. 

Yuri who had no idea. And who deserved to know. Because he was perhaps the most important person in Jean’s life. 

And because Jean could never be certain how long his remission would last. 

It had been years since the last time his medication had not been enough to keep him stable. But he would never forget the weeks of mania that had surrounded the GPF in Barcelona. They had been seared in Jean’s mind, with all the consequences they had brought. 

He had  _ proposed  _ to Isabella. In front of his whole family. 

And in that moment it had felt like flying in the middle of a quad without ever touching down. Never mind he hadn’t really wanted that, not at the age of nineteen. But in the euphoric haze of his episode everything had seemed different, good so good, and everyone had been happy for them, thrilled to see him ask Izzy to be his wife. Even his parents had not suspected anything.

Not until Jean had inevitably crashed. And the truth had come out. 

It had destroyed their relationship. And Jean only had himself to blame. Because while he may had eventually told Izzy about his condition, she had been too hurt by his change of heart, by his reluctance to follow through with their engagement. And it had been the end. For all of her understanding nature, Jean had fucked up too badly that time. He should have been open with her.

But hindsight was twenty twenty. 

He sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. He had to get ready for practice. There was just enough time to take a shower and get dressed. Feltsman was not one to tolerate tardiness, and Jean did not want to be on the receiving end of one of his lectures. He had heard him yell at the rest of the skaters, and it had not been a pretty sight. But in spite of his resolve, Jean’s feet refused to move. His fingers were clenching the formica of the kitchen counter with a vice-like grip. 

Because there was terror pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

The memories of Izzy were cutting too close to home. And Jean was terrified. He was making the same mistakes all over again. Repeating the same actions while expecting a different result. 

Yuri was right when he called him an idiot. 

He stared at the wall ahead, not really seeing it, while the pills kept rolling in his stomach. Jean was aware he hadn’t been manic in years, and that his last depressive episode had been mild. But was he ready to gamble his relationship with Yuri? Just because he was scared of speaking. Scared of being pushed away. 

But even that would be better than hurting  _ Yuri _ . 

“Fuck.” he murmured.

It must have been louder than he thought, because Yuri stirred.

“Jean?” he grumbled from his pillow, lifting his head with a bemused expression “Shouldn’t you be at the rink?”

“Yuri.” he said, his eyes widening in surprise. He felt as if he had been caught red handed, and the alarm must had shown on his face because Yuri quickly lifted himself into a sitting position.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with a hint of worry in his voice, scrambling to get his crutches. Jean strode towards him, to help him get up from the bed.

“There’s nothing wrong.” he said, trying to pull his lips into a smile, but clearly failing as Yuri’s expression darkened.

“Tell me.” Yuri demanded. The T-shirt he was wearing hung over his shoulder and his hair was sticking in all directions, but his green eyes piercing him with a no nonsense look, that made Jean drop his head.

“How about I make you breakfast first?” he suggested, holding one of the crutches for Yuri to take it. 

The blond gave him a long look, but nodded before starting to hobble towards the bathroom. As the door clicked shut, Jean exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He could feel his heart beating fast, and his hands shook. But he had to do this. Yuri was too important to risk losing him.

Squaring his shoulders, he took his phone from his sweatpants’ pocket. He had to tell Feltsman he was not coming to the rink. 

Fifteen minutes later, he placed a plate full of pancakes on the kitchen table. Yuri emerged from the bathroom, looking far more awake now. His eyebrows were still furrowed and he eyed Jean inquisitively, almost as if a closer inspection could reveal him what was wrong with him.

The ate in silence, while Shapka rubbed on their ankles, demanding attention. And not getting it. Even Yuri who was normally perfectly attuned with his cat, ignored her, scowling at his breakfast while he made a quick work of it. 

The moment they were both done, Yuri looked him square in the eye and Jean nodded. He got up from the table and walked to his backpack, fishing out his pill dispensers. He placed them on the table, while Yuri looked at them in puzzlement. Jean sat down, pointing at the blue dispenser.

“I take these in the morning. They make sure I have enough energy to function. Some days they’re the only reason I manage to get anything done” he told him, then pointing at the white dispenser “These are my night evening dose. They keep me balanced and also make sure I sleep.”

Yuri didn’t say anything, and Jean took as an invitation to to continue. He swallowed.

“I’ve been taking them for years.” Jean explained, then squaring his jaw “I...I have a mental disorder.”

Yuri’s eyes moved from the pills to his face, with a mixture of emotions in them that Jean could not decipher.

“You’re sick.” he said at last, and Jean gave him a wry smile.

“I guess you could put it like that.” Jean replied, looking down to the table where the pills glared at him from their plastic containers “I suffer from something called bipolar disorder”

“Is that the thing where you have those mood things?” Yuri asked, tilting his head.

“It’s called episodes. But yeah. I… uh, there are these periods when I’m depressed and then others I’m manic. It’s like being on the high of adrenaline, except it lasts days, weeks, and I want to do fifty things at the same time, and be everywhere, I just cannot bear being  _ still _ …” his voice trailed as he realised he was rambling. He cleared his throat  “Anyway, the meds keep them from getting bad, so I can control it. It’s been years since I’ve had a big one.”

Yuri just looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. And Jean felt like he was sitting in the kiss and cry waiting for the results of a free skate. But there was no one to support him, no one to share his trepidation with. There was only the heavy silence of Yuri’s apartment, and the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, casting everything in a surreal light.

“I guess that explains a lot of things.” Yuri said at last, and Jean felt his eyebrows rise to his fringe “I mean I noticed that you’re behaving a bit oddly sometimes, but I just guessed it’s you.”

“It is me.” Jean rebutted, grimacing “But it also isn’t.”

He exhaled, pushing his fingers through his hair and looking nervously at Yuri

“Are you… Are you okay with this?”

“What do you mean?” Yuri asked him confused, and Jean got up from his chair, pacing the length of the kitchenette

“Yuri, look I.. I cannot guarantee I will always be okay.” he told him, not looking at the blond “There might be periods when I won’t be able to get out of bed. Or when I’ll be so full of energy I’ll be obnoxious. And I might make some very stupid choices, because I won’t be able to think straight about the consequences of my actions.” 

“There could also be those really ugly periods when the two things mix up, and I might do some  _ very  _ stupid things, like hurting myself. Badly.” he closed his eyes, as he tried to push back the memory of that one mixed episode he had had back when he had been still in high school. I had  _ not  _ been pretty. The only silver lining was that it had brought Jean to therapy. 

He lifted his eyes, looking at Yuri, and digging for that last ounce of courage to say what needed to be said. He owed Yuri that much.

“I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I understand if it’s too much for you.” he told him “I’m… I’m giving you a way out if you want.”

Yuri snapped his eyes at him with a murderous expression. Angrily he took his crutches and got up from his chair. Jean made to help him, but Yuri, just pushed himself into his space, dropping one of the crutches and pointing a finger at Jean’s chest.

“Let me get this straight, because I won’t be having this stupid conversation with you  _ ever  _ again, you hear me?” Yuri barked, nostrils flaring, and Jean could just look at him with his eyes wide, bracing himself.

“I fucking love you.” he snarled, gripping his shirt in his fist “And if you think I’d dump you because of this, you’re really a bigger  _ pridurok _ than I thought!” 

Jean’s heart had barely the time to skip a beat before he was being yanked forward and Yuri pressed a hard kiss against his lips.

A moment later, Jean kissed him back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pliroy Week 2017 - Day 3: Fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. Don't ask me why. XD

The cushions were soft. Too soft. Yuri winced as he shuffled from his position on the couch. After spending nearly three weeks sitting and lying down, he could feel every kink in his back groan painfully. It was fucking horrible. He was used to aching muscles, sprains, broken bones, but he could not honestly remember ever being in pain from inactivity. That, combined with the gaping boredom of spending his days holed up in his studio apartment, only fuelled his natural grumpiness. 

In all honesty he was wondering how Jean had not yet snapped at him.  _ He  _ would snapped at himself, if only it wouldn’t make him even more pissed off. But the idiot had the patience of a fucking saint on his worst days. And ever since that morning when they had talked about Jean’s condition, the Canadian had been tiptoeing around Yuri. Almost as if he was going to change his mind if the idiot did something to piss him off. 

He shook his head, trying to steer his mind away from the topic. It only made his irritation peak. Yuri had been ready to throttle him when Jean had tried to be a fucking self-sacrificing moron and give him a way out. Of all things! Like the big revelation actually changed things. He was still shocked at the sheer stupidity of the Canadian. But the worst part had been the look of utter vulnerability that had appeared in Jean’s blue eyes. Yuri had seen it seldom, but every time it clenched something inside him and he would feel his lungs pulverised by the wrongness of it. 

Yuri scowled, pushing away the knot that was forming in his stomach at the thought of it. He turned his attention back to the television where Russian soap-opera was currently being broadcasted. It was mind-numbing and he hated it, but it was better than mulling over Jean’s insecurities. 

He knew he was shit at giving any kind of comfort. So Yuri hadn’t even tried. But at the same time he wanted things to go back to the normality they had so easily settled in after just a week of Jean’s stay in Yuri’s apartment. The thought of such domesticity would have made his fifteen year old self gag, but nineteen year old Yuri knew a good thing when he saw it. And this, waking up next to Jean, seeing his toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, cuddling on the sofa while they watched something on the television, it felt right deep down to the marrow of his healing bones. 

At the same time it did not mean he was happy with watching some shitty telenovela while Jean did the laundry, because Yuri couldn’t do a fucking thing on his own, not without the risk of slowing down the healing process. He wanted to get the godforsaken cast off his leg and get back to skating. Or at the very least be able to move out of his apartment.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. A pile of clothes  walked in, Jean recognisable only by his sweatpants and sneakers. He put down the folded clothes on the bed, before turning toward Yuri with a sheepish expression. 

“Um, Yuri, remember when you said you loved me?” he said with an apologetic grin.

Yuri blinked twice.

“What did you do?” he asked with a calm voice, while his mind ran through a spectacular array of disastrous scenarios. With Jean anything was possible.

“I… well, I might have fucked up the laundry.” he said, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

“What do you mean?” Yuri exclaimed, taking his crutches and starting to hobble towards the bed where the laundry in question lay. To his credit, Jean still tried to give him a hand, but Yuri was not having it. He was fairly sure the laundry in question consisted mostly of Yuri’s clothes. And if he was not mistaken some of his favourite shirts were there. 

“Well… ahem, remember that pair of boxers your really like to see me wear?” he asked, and Yuri felt his blood chill.

“The red ones.” he said flatly.

“Yeah. They kinda ended up mixed with laundry…I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry, Yuri.” he said quickly, giving him the best impression of puppy eyes. Which  _ did not  _ work on Yuri, “I’ll replace everything. Hell I’ll take you shopping the second you get that cast off. Anything. Just, don’t be mad?”

Yuri ignored him, looking at the pile of laundry and noticing the odd colour of the fabrics. On top were sheets, which had been originally white, but were now tinged a baby pink that reminded him of Mila’s lipstick. His socks were all in various degrees of pink and purple. He moved them from the pile, looking at the jeans underneath, which had been turned almost lilac. Then his eyes fell on a sliver of fabric that was peeking underneath. Tiger-striped fabric.

His breath hitched, and he scrambled to fish the garment out.

Fucking hell. 

His black and white tiger-striped shirt. The one Beka had gotten him for his sixteenth birthday. 

It was now a shocking shade of bright pink.

“I know you really like this shirt.” Jean looked at him with a wide-eyed expression of dismay, and Yuri looked at the garment in his hands. His favourite T-shirt. The one he wore most often.

“I don’t know what to do.” the idiot babbled on “I even called maman to ask her if i can fix this, but she said it’s impossible…”

“You called your mother?” Yuri abruptly lifted his head, eying him with disbelief “Isn’t it like 4 in fucking morning in Canada?”

Jean gave him a sheepish grin, and Yuri rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He wanted to be pissed off. Hell, he had every reason to be. The idiot had turned half of Yuri’s wardrobe into something befitting a ten year-old girl! But looking at the genuinely apologetic expression on the moron’s face, the way his head dropped slightly, made Yuri’s anger dissipate.

He was getting soft. But Yuri honestly didn’t give a single fuck. This was Jean. Who was an idiot, but he was Yuri’s idiot. And he fucking loved him.

“You know what, I think I’ll wear it.” he told him, eyeing the garish horror he was still holding in his hand, while he hobbled to the mirror and placed the shirt in front of him.

“You will?” Jean asked with a frown “I thought you hated pink.”

“I said I hate girly shit. This isn’t girly.” Yuri bit back, looking at the way the black stripes crossed the bright pink fabric “Besides, it’s been awhile since I made a fashion statement.”

“Oh yeah? And what kind of statement would you make with this?” Jean asked with a teasing grin, coming to stand behind him, and nuzzling his nose in Yuri’s hair.

“That nothing can stop the Russian Tiger, not even stupid Canadians who don’t know how to do the laundry.” he said with a smirk, then turning around until he was facing Jean, he said “Honestly though, you’re worse than Victor. Next time, I’m checking everything. I can’t have you ruin my whole fucking wardrobe.”

The idiot laughed, sneaking his arms around his waist.

“So you’re not upset?” he asked with a hopeful glint in those blue eyes.

“Oh no, I’m pissed off.” he told him with an evil smirk, pulling his head forward until they were nearly kissing “But since you promised to take me shopping once I get this shit off my leg, you get to keep all of your limbs.”

Jean laughed, and Yuri felt it rumble through his chest.  

“Fair enough.” he said, and dipped his head until their lips met.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pliroy Week 2017 - Day 4: Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm like 2 weeks late, but I just didn't find the time! I'm so terribly sorry. :O  
> Enjoy!

The grey light reflected off the ice. The scratches and deep wedges casting shadows in the mild glare. Jean moved leisurely across the rink, cooling down after four hours of relentless training. Feltsman stood behind the barrier wearing his usual unforgiving expression. But in the fortnight he had spent training at the Russian rink, Jean had learned that it was the elderly coach’s resting face. That it meant he had no complaints of Jean’s skating. It was such a strange way to train. He had changed two coaches during his Junior days, before his parents had taken over, but for all that their techniques were different, Feltsman was something else entirely. Jean could see why he had managed to give wings to amazing skaters such as Nikiforov. Or Yuri.

He smiled as he worked his way off the ice and out of his training clothes. Yuri was getting grumpier with each passing day. He could understand him. When he had broken his arm during Junior he only resisted five days before he had donned his skates and at least glided across the rink. His father had been on the verge of yelling, but he had let him skate nonetheless. Both his parents understood that the ice was not something so easily dismissed.

But Yuri broke his ankle, and no amount on lenience from his coach could get him ice time. Not for at least another week. He was scheduled for a checkup on Monday, and with a bit of luck they would take his cast off. And just in time. They would leave for Japan in twelve days, and while Yuri was adamant he would travel with or without his cast, he hoped to avoid the lengthy yelling match that was guaranteed to arise between Feltsman and the blond if the former came to pass. 

The bus ride home was quicker than usual, as Jean had managed to leave the rink before the brunt of traffic clogged the streets of Saint Petersburg. It was strange how quickly he had gotten used to the Russian city, for all that he barely spoke the language and still had to mentally spell the cyrillic into romanic when he read. It made him toy with the idea of moving to Russia on a semi-permanent basis. 

He had offered to do so more than once in the past year, whenever he and Yuri discussed the strain of long-distance. But he had never seriously considered it before, and he knew Yuri had neither. And yet Jean knew that they would eventually have to choose. Especially now that Jean was about to graduate. 

And that Yuri knew about his condition.

It had been perhaps the greatest obstacle, the one thing that had always held him back whenever he tried to imagine their future together. But Yuri  _ wanted  _ to be by his side, no matter what. And Jean was leaning more and more towards the idea of being the one to uproot himself and moving to Russia. 

He reached Yuri’s apartment.  _ Their  _ aparment, for all intents and purposes. Jean had begun thinking of it as home after barely a week of living there, and now that over a fortnight had practically passed, it no longer felt strange to refer to it as such. The door clicked closed behind him and he cast a look towards the sofa where Yuri was normally found whenever he got back from training. But he was not there.

Instead Jean found him sitting on the windowsill, absently stroking Shapka’s fur. There were headphones on his ears, and his eyes were closed while his head bobbed in rhythm with whatever he was listening to. Jean stood by the door, observing the way Yuri’s hair slided out of his ponytail and fell across his shoulder in thin tendrils of gold. 

His heart clenched. There was something achingly beautiful in the simplicity of the sight, in the easy domesticity they had fallen into in the past weeks. And Jean did not want to let this go. He did not want to go back to thousands of miles of distance between them, an ocean separating them and timezones, clashing schedules, stolen moments in hotels during competitions. Always trying to cut out some time for themselves. But never really getting this. Seeing Yuri simply idle about. And know they were not wasting time, because they had all the time in the world. Because whatever they did not manage to do today could be postponed for tomorrow. It was good. It was right. And Jean did not want to give this up.

“What the fuck are you doing there?” Yuri’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he stared at him taken by surprise. Yuri’s blond eyebrows were furrowed in bemusement and he was scowling.

Jean shook his head dropping his bag on the floor and walking towards the windowsill where Yuri was still perched. 

“I was thinking.” he told him, leaning down to press a kiss on the top of his head. Yuri protested something in Russian before pulling Jean’s head lower and capturing his lips in a proper kiss.

He chuckled when they broke apart, and Yuri adjusted himself so Jean could sit down next to him on the windowsill, Yuri’s back against his torso, and Jean’s chin perched on his head. Shapka meowed in protest when Yuri jostled her, but she quickly made herself comfortable in Yuri’s lap once again.

“I like this.” Jean said, and Yuri hummed in reply “All of this. Being here. Living together.”

“Yeah, me too.” Yuri replied quietly, leaning his head on Jean’’s collarbone and closing his eyes for a moment “It’s gonna be strange when you return to Canada.”

“What if I don’t?” Jean blurted out.

“What?” Yuri turned his head abruptly, almost headbutting Jean’s chin.

“No really, I know I’ve been saying this a lot. But what if I stayed in Russia.” Jean saw Yuri open his mouth to reply, but he did not give him the chance to protest “I’ve been training with Feltsman for weeks now. And yeah, he’s rough around the edges, but he’s a good coach. Hell, he has to be, he coached you, Nikiforov, Babicheva. It could work. And I’m about to graduate, so I don’t really have to live in Montreal. I can go and see my family for holidays and stuff....”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.” Yuri said, eyebrows knitted. There was a wary look in his eyes that Jean did not understand. And his stomach dropped. He had been working under the assumption Yuri  _ wanted  _ him here in Saint Petersburg. Every conversation they had had in the past had led him to believe it was everything his boyfriend wanted. But that he always disagreed because their careers were important. Because as Yuri had put it more than once, they had a lot of time. The rest of their lives. After they eventually quitted skated, it was.

But what if he had been wrong. What if he had misjudged everything. 

“You don’t want me here?” he asked, but it was more of a statement. He had barely finished speaking before Yuri was punching his shoulder. He yelped in a mixture of pain and surprise “What was that for?” he cried out.

“You’re a moron.” Yuri snarled “Why the fuck would I not want you here?”

“You didn’t sound that happy about my plan.” Jean replied, his voice more clipped than he wanted it to be. But he was confused, and Yuri was sending a lot of mixed signals.

“Fuck you, Jean.” Yuri replied, trying to disentangle himself from the position they were in and stand up. Jean made to help him, even if he was miffed about this whole conversation, but Yuri sent him a glare and picked the crutches himself, lowering his body off the windowsill and coming to stand in front of his. Shapka meowed in protest before leaving them with an indignant flip of her tail.

Yuri looked at Jean squarely in the eye, green eyes blazing.

“I want you to live here. These weeks have been fucking awesome. And yeah, your plan is great” he told him harshly.

“So what is the problem?” Jena asked, more confused than ever.

“Are you sure you really want this?” Yuri bit back and Jean blinked twice, shaking his head in befuddlement.

“I was the one who proposed this idea.” he replied with a frown.

“I know that.” Yuri barked with irritation “Look I’ve been doing a it of reading. It’s not like I have anything better to do, so I’ve been trying to understand more about that bipolar thing. And well, fuck this. Look are you really sure you want to move to Russia? Or is this one of those, how the fuck are they called? Episodes?”

Jean looked at him, dumbfounded. But also feeling a bubble of warmth expand inside his chest, and push against his ribcage. He couldn’t really believe it. After that difficult revelation Jean had explained to the best of his ability what happened in his brain, scrambled as it was. But Yuri had actually gone and tried to learn more about it. To understand. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but it made him want to drag Yuri closer and never let go.

Yuri who was looking at him with an ever evolving frown on his face. There was a tinge of worry in his eyes. And Jean forced himself to move. He rested his hands on Yuri’s elbows, and leaned forward, looking at his bright green eyes, spring leaves and lime that sometimes turned almost blue, or would tinge in a shade of grey. Always moving, always changing and never still. Just like Yuri. Beautiful, and mesmerising. 

And full of surprises.

“Yuri, this is what I really want.” he told him softly, lifting his arm and cupping Yuri’s cheek “I really want to move to Russia. I will graduate in a couple of months and I can move here before the next season starts.” 

“You’re sure.” Yuri said, and it was not a question, but Jean nodded nonetheless.

His hand lowered on Jean’s shoulder and one of the crouches clattered down on the floor. But Yuri just leaned his weight on Jean who curled one of his arms around Yuri’s waist. His eyes were filled with a twirl of emotions, and Jean, leaned forward until their noses were touching.

“I promise.” he said with finality.

And then he kissed him.

  
  



End file.
